Jason's test
by Funkmaster21
Summary: Will Jason survive jigsaw's latest game? A man deemed unworthy by the serial killer has to face the test to save his life. Let the game begin.


Stupid. The thought ran through Jason's head as he shifted back into consciousness. Silently cursing himself for letting his guard down, trusting a stranger in a strange neighborhood wasn't a good idea. The huge man groaned in agony as he felt a sharp pang of ache in the back of his head accompanied by dizziness. He felt the sticky sensation of his own blood on his hair and forehead. "Fuck" he muttered to himself in frustration.

Slowly, he squinted and tried to find his bearings. He was in a basement. That much was clear. Strangely though, it was nearly empty. Aside from himself, bound by thick rope to a chair, the only thing of note was the exit, a set of stairs leading to what Jason presumed to be the first floor, and oddly enough a TV on a stand just over the door of the exit. Jason shrugged and thought of his escape.

He tugged lightly at his bindings, expecting to break them easily with his strength. Jason was no small man; in fact he was the contrary. Since he lived alone, had little or no friends or family, he had lots of time to himself, which he obsessively used to exercise. As a result he was very well built and toned. It was the only thing he really could pride himself over. Constantly, and vainly he spent his days staring at his own reflection. He honed his body to the physical peak. The slightest imperfection would cause fits of rage. Often smashing the mirror in self-obsessed frustration.

Jason was in his late twenties from Brooklyn, New York. He was also a medical school college dropout.  
He didn't regret quitting his education, but he sometimes resented the friends he had who had continued and become successful. Jason was very much alone these days. He worked at his dead-end delivery job, dragged his feet home, and hit the weights long into the night. Since he quit school the spiral of depression had been getting worse. His only outlet lied in his dumbbells.  
"Hello?" He called out, his voice echoed off the cold, cement walls. He called out again, to no effect.

Suddenly Jason felt more frightened than ever. He tugged harder at his bindings; his huge muscles bulged as tore at the rope to no effect.  
Exhausted he sat back and racked his brain. Why would someone want to capture him? It made no sense. He searched his memory for any recent wrongdoings, but couldn't think of a thing.  
Stumped, he had no choice but to wait. "Is anyone there?" He asked no-one in particular.

It was at this moment, he noticed that the chair was bolted to the floor. In a moment of confusion, he leaned forward to inspect the legs of the chairs. Unknown to him a small, thin wire attached to his t-shirt broke away.  
Startled, Jason sat back as he saw the chilling image appear on the TV screen. A disturbing life-size puppet turned and faced Jason, freezing his soul.

"Hello Jason. I want to play a game."

Jason held his breath, and nearly vomited with fright. He had heard this story before; it had been papers, the famed 'Jigsaw killer'. He knew what was happening next.  
"Oh fuck, oh fuck" was all he could say, all he could do in his petrified state. The puppet continued..

"All your life has been the pursuit of an empty ambition, one self-obsessed dream of vanity and illusion. You have sacrificed and denied yourself the chance for a greater life. Are you willing to now sacrifice the one fixation that has been your focus for your entire existence... for the chance of a new life?" The voice came slow, relaxed and almost mockingly at ease.

Jason's breath now came in short bursts. He would admit it; He was scared. He could barely understand the puppets words in his frightful state. In futile rage he ravaged the rope that bound him, his cursing and threats fell onto deaf ears.

"There is a box containing two scalpels under the chair, one will be used to cut the rope. The other... yourself."

"Fuck you!" Was Jason's pointless reply.

"The rules are simple."

The puppet continued, regardless. It's cold, gravelly voice echoed around the dark room,

"Behind you, you will notice two small holes in the ground, each containing a key. You will need both the keys to escape the room." Jason twisted and wrenched his body, turning his neck to see the holes. They were narrow. Too narrow for his bulky arms. He suddenly realized Jigsaw's sick game. "Oh shit." he whispered.

"As you will have noticed, the holes are too small for your arms too fit. The only option is to shave the flesh that has been your body you have been unworthy to possess. The keys will open the door to your left, but be warned. In 60 seconds the outer doors will slam shut and you will be doomed to stay in your prison for the rest of your short days."

In that moment, Jason heard the ticking of a fast moving clock. He couldn't see it, but he knew the timer had started and he didn't have much time

"You have 60 seconds. Live or die. Make your choice."

Jason suddenly felt very alone.

"Let the game begin." The screen went dead.

Panic stricken, Jason wasted no time in kicking the box under his feet and flipping the lid with his shoe. Selecting the larger of the two knifes, Jason bent low, straining his body in everyway and grabbed it with his hand and started work on his bindings. "Oh fuck, oh fuck... This is it." His time was running out. In a few seconds he felt the rope give way and he stood up, grabbing both scalpels.  
Marching over to the two holes, he guessed how much of his muscle he would have to remove. It was a lot.  
Tears of rage and fright trickled down the giant man's face as he faced his most crucial decision of his life. He spotted the timer at the back of the chair. With nauseating realization he found he had thirty seconds left. With a sob he wielded the blade and held it at his forearm. But he hesitated. Could he do it? Should he? The questions filled his head in seconds, all designed to slow the inevitable choice he had to make. He made his choice. He had to do it. He drew a deep breath.  
With an agonizing move he plunged the scalpel through his left arm and into his thick triceps, the blood squirted out at all angles, covering his t-shirt and skin. He screamed the loudest he ever had. The pain was so immense he nearly passed out.

But with adrenaline fueled determination he twisted the knife at terrifyingly grotesque depths, hacking and slicing the muscles on his arms. His flesh fell off his arms in bloody chunks, as he moved to the biceps.  
Eventually, after agonizing seconds, he was satisfied enough flesh had been removed to navigate the left hole and grab the key and its salvation. He checked the timer. 20 seconds left. Panic set in and he moved his hand into the hole only a few inches in diameter to take the key and his salvation. He pulled out the key and set it aside.

Jason's breath was becoming shallow, his blood.. His life was flowing so much he was getting woozy. He tried to use his damaged hand to take the other key through the right hole. No good. It was shaped in a way that only each arm could grab its own key. Left for left. Right for right. Cursing Jigsaw, he gritted his teeth and tried to take the knife in his bloody pulp of an arm but soon realized he could barely hold it. With excruciating effort, Jason managed to slice off the forearm muscles, and then dragged the knife up to work at the higher, fleshier parts. His screams filled the stale air.  
The blood was flowing faster and faster and Jason staggered as he moved his arm to retrieve the final key. He took it, but slumped to the floor and lying face first in a pool of his own blood. He stared at the timer. His eyes were heavy, his thoughts lazy, he watched the timer go to 0. Sure enough, he heard metallic doors above slam shut. He couldn't feel the pain in his arms anymore, he vomited as the dizziness took hold of him, but he hardly cared. The adrenaline had subsided, replaced by numbness.  
He had lost. With eyes that no longer functioned, he stared at nothing in particular. He didn't miss the irony of his death, and it was his last thought. He cradled his blood splattered, useless arms. The muscles that had given him purpose were that which had ended his life. His eyelids became heavier and then there was nothing. He had lost. Game over.


End file.
